He’s struttin’ sho ernuff,
Wearin’ a lady’s muff
En’ ways erpon his head,
Red coat ob reddest red,
Purtty white satin ves’,
Gole braid ercross de ches’;
Goo’ness! he cuts a stunt,
Prancin’ out dar in frunt,
        Leadin’ his ban’.

W’en dat ah whistle blows,
Each man behine him knows
’Zacklee whut he mus’ do;
You bet! he dues it, too.
W’en dat brass stick he twirls,
Ole maids an’ lub-sick gurls
Looks on wid longin’ eyes,
Dey simpley idolize
        Dat han’sum man.

Sweet fife an’ piccalo,
Bofe warblin’ sof’ an’ lo’,
Slide ho’n an’ saxophones,
Jazz syncopated tones,
Snare drum an’ lead cornet,
Alto an’ clarinet,
Las’, but not least, dar cum
Cymbals an’ big bass drum—
        O! whut a ban’!

Cose, we all undahstan’
Each piece he’ps maik de ban’,
But dey all mus’ be led,
Sum one mus’ be de head:
No doubt, de centipede
Has all de laigs he need,
But take erway de head,
Po’ centipede am dead;
        So am de ban’.